


a sign of the times

by gearsystem



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Book: The Sign of the Four, First Kiss, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23555689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gearsystem/pseuds/gearsystem
Summary: During a lull in the case of The Sign of the Four, Watson decided to mention a more personal matter to his partner.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 64





	a sign of the times

**Author's Note:**

> This was just something I had sitting in my Google docs for way too long, so I decided to polish it up and post it! Enjoy :)

Through my many chronicles, my dear friend and companion Sherlock Holmes has frequently requested I utilise my artistic license to embellish or alter moments in our careers. In most circumstances it was only when he fails a case, but on separate occasions it was due to him wishing the public view him in a different light. Regardless of the critiques he’s given me from time to time of my romantic tales, he does seem to take enjoyment in the ability to edit his life to only leave the parts he deems acceptable.

However, there was one instance in which Holmes and I shared a want, or a need rather, to hide certain details of my records. Not for personal preference or self-conscious feelings, but for safety. 

During the events of what the public knows now as  _ The Sign of the Four,  _ I made a discovery about Holmes that until then was only a far-fetched hope of mine. 

In the idle hours at Baker Street, when Holmes had nothing left to do but to wait, he lounged on the sofa as I sat in my arm chair. After many minutes of him being lost in his own thoughts, Holmes glanced at the drawer which encased his hypodermic needle and syringe. I had spent months saying close to nothing, and the last conversation we shared led elsewhere rather quickly. It was late in the evening now, both of us riddled with a thin layer of exhaustion. He was not under the effects of the drug. Maybe this time the conversation could end in a different manner. 

'Holmes,' I said, my voice hushed by the weight of the day. 

'Yes?' he responded with a distracted air. 

I cleared my throat regardless, attempting to get his attention. 'Why is it that you are contemplating use of your 7% solution despite us having a case at hand?'

His distraction fell and his head shot back to look at me; shocked by my deduction. 'What makes you think I was contemplating it?'

'You looked at the drawer within which the needle sits in for far too long for you not to be.'

Holmes’s brow furrowed for a moment, only to relax in submission. 'I cannot deny the facts, then. I was considering it, I suppose.'

'Why? You said you only used it to alleviate boredom when you were idle. Are we not occupied with a case right now?' I knew my personal anguish about his addiction was clouding my words already, and that he sensed it.

He let out a sigh, 'Are we not idle? Awaiting the next piece to the puzzle, wasting away until answers are revealed?' The melancholia behind his tone struck something in my chest.

'Is it impossible for your mind to spend a few hours relaxing?'

His eyes met mine, 'Yes.' His expression held a new weight to it when he spoke that singular syllable, and a piece of my chest twitched. 

'You are aware of my feelings on the matter. It is unnecessary for me to repeat myself,' I said, hardening my words in a weasled attempt to deflect Holmes’s intensity. There was a silence for a moment, and my partner turned to face me with a quizzical expression. 

'My dear Watson,' he began. 'Perhaps your concerns would be better used elsewhere… with Miss Morstan.'

There was a  _ pang  _ in my chest in time with the hard enunciation of 'Mors _ tan. _ ' Those were not the analytical or methodic words of a detective, they were words of venom and vengeance. Our client’s name took on a heavy mass unlike that of anything I had seen in my seven years living with Holmes. 

I took a deep inhale.

'Holmes,' I murmured. 'Have my interactions with our young client offended you in some way?'

An audible scoff was heard from under his now brooding, curled in form. 

'Answer me, Holmes. You cannot possibly believe that my interactions with Miss Morstan are in some way suggestive, can you?' Despite my saying this, I could not say I was unaware of the thought’s origin. I felt nothing for the young woman, but I wanted to be welcoming to someone we were to be spending time with. She had shown interest in me, but I elected not to pursue it. 

A long pause from my partner resonated in the parlour, despite the lack of decibels. 

'Do not mock me, Watson.' Oh, Holmes.

'Whatever you believe me to mock you for, I can assure you it is unintentional,’ I said. ‘Holmes, what has fallen upon you?’

‘You think me capable of falling to the whim of some external force? And here I thought you knew me to be above that.’

‘Why are you speaking to me as if you are a caricature of the Holmes I wrote of in Beeton’s Annual? I have lived with you now for going on seven years, do you think I am so dim in my intellect to believe that you are above all basic human emotion?’ I heard my voice raise just a bit. In a typical situation, I would guard my feelings with more intent, but given the context, that felt unnecessary.

Another scoff, ‘My dear Watson. I meant nothing beyond what my words stated when I brought up our client. I believed you to have an interest in her, as I know you often do fall to the whim of emotion.’

‘Yes, I do fall whim to emotion, but not to emotions I do not feel. I have no attachment to that of our client, Holmes.’

A pause of surprise filled the room for a moment.

‘Well, perhaps it is true that my deductions of human feeling are often the ones to suffer most.’

My frustration grew the more he deflected the actual topic at hand with these musings. 

‘Holmes, you forget where this discussion began. I expressed my concern for you and your growing dependency, and you decided to address my nonexistent feelings for Miss Morstan. Where is this coming from?’

‘It comes from nowhere but the sentence I uttered.’

‘And why did you utter it? What possible motivations drive you to distract me from this growing problem?’

‘I tire of this. If you insist on this being an issue of semantics, I may as well just inject the needle now to make it more bearable.’

My heart ached with the pain behind his words. What could be causing him such aggressive thoughts? I stood up from my seat to approach him, to reduce the space between us and perhaps diffuse the tension within it.

‘Do you think the more you push away my efforts to aid you, the less I will care? Do you think my affection for you is so based, so vapid that I would allow harsh words to alter it?’

Holmes’ shoulders sank, defeated just enough for my eyes alone to spot it.

‘You… hold affection for me?’ Holmes asked, his voice infinitely more gentle than before.

‘Affection as anyone who has spent seven years sharing rooms with you would hold, of course. I care for your health, Holmes, and yet you seem to be unable to let me express as much without strikes at my character.’

A sigh emitted from his lips, and I knelt beside the sofa, waiting for a response.

‘Your affection frightens me, Watson.’

‘What?’

‘It frightens me. It is unfamiliar, unpredictable, and emotional. How can I not depend on chemical soothers when your emotions may shift at any moment?’

_ Oh, Holmes. _

‘Holmes. Look at me.’

He did.

‘Why, in God’s name, would I make such a flippant choice to abandon you when your need for my help has never been more evident?’

‘And how do you find that I am somehow in need of your help?’

‘If Sherlock Holmes is falling so victim to the whims of his emotion to think that I would find interest in a woman for no reason other than unreciprocated flattery, then it is clear your deductive skills have failed you. What else should you require but the aid of a doctor?’ My statement was full of risk and somewhat informed assumption, but somehow I felt that it was safe to say nonetheless.

His brow furrowed at my words for a moment, before his expression changed to one of contemplation. 

‘Watson, are there… implications behind your words?’

‘Does an implication exist if no one wishes to see it?’ My face inched closer to Holmes’, quiet, questioning, waiting. ‘Do you wish to see an implication, Holmes?’

Holmes’ hand covered mine where it was placed on the arm of the sofa, tentative.

‘Be direct with me, no implicit words or expressions.’ 

I took a deep breath inward.

‘May I kiss you, Holmes?’

‘Yes.’

The sun outside the window was beginning to set down the London skyline, and Sherlock Holmes’ lips met mine as the air in our shared living space stilled. It was a simple enough exchange, yet infinite in its definitions. 

Our kiss deepend, in such a way that Holmes was pushed to a lying position as I hovered above him. Seven years by his side, and yet never had I felt such closeness to him. The sharp sting of his words just moments before faded as his lips covered mine.

Holmes was the first to pull away from our embrace. A pessimistic part of my mind whispered insecurities my way.

_ What if he regrets it? What if this is a kiss, and nothing more? What if this is but another expression of his friendship with little more than a boyish show of affection to taunt me? _

Holmes’ anxious expression halts all the fear in my mind. 

‘So you… You feel…?’ Holmes rarely muttered through sentences, making it evident how altered by feeling he is. 

‘Yes, do you?’ I must be certain, even if he was acting this way.

‘Your deductions were quite correct, my dear.’ The absence of my name behind the endearment does not go unnoticed.

* * *

The remainder of the evening holds events that, even in the nature of the tale itself, would be too indiscreet for their own good. The following events are related within  _ The Sign of the Four,  _ available with ease to the public. The ending is changed to a degree, as would be expected of it to be given its direct relation to my relationship with Holmes. I did not take Miss Morstan as a wife, or as anything but a faithful friend. The holder of Mary’s true affection, Ingrid, appreciated the bend of the truth more than most, as it affected her livelihood just as it did mine. But, the truth of things was worth a written recognition. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: dandyholmes


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